CHAPTER I

A real enterprise--The glamour of the _Arabian Nights_--Off to an unknown country--Light on the way--A friend at Court--I figure as a Nihilist--The Hungarian “express”--Wild men in sheep-skins--An intruder routed--Bucarest, a dreadful town--Adventures by flood and street--A warm reception.

When I announced my intention of going to Roumania, I occasioned real consternation amongst my friends. “Why, you must be quite mad to think of going so far away to a country of which nobody knows anything at all!” was one of the mildest criticisms of my project.

The year was 1889--more than thirty years ago; and thirty years is not only a long period in the life of an individual, but it may make momentous changes in the story of a nation or of a country.

I will confess that it did seem a rash undertaking for a girl to venture so far afield into the unknown; but the enterprise had no terrors for me. I was already an accomplished traveller. I had “finished” at Magdeburg, visited Paris and Brussels, and spent more than a year in Vienna. I had been used to speaking French and German rather than English for several years; and, for the rest, I was an Irish girl, and timidity is not a fault which I have ever heard charged against the people of my country. Then, again, I did know something about Roumania, if my friends did not. It was very little indeed, I grant, but it was enough to make me anxious to learn more. Some Viennese acquaintances of mine had visited Bucarest, and from them I had gained an alluring impression of a wonderful race of people, rich in the primitive virtues, dwelling in a charming country and amidst scenes of Oriental luxury. I will frankly admit that the glamour of the _Arabian Nights_ was over all my thoughts and ideas about Roumania. Perhaps I was not so very far astray.

My intention was to establish myself in Bucarest in an independent way as a teacher of languages. I felt that I was pretty well equipped for the work, and I had been told that there was ample scope for my endeavour, and that I would find the remuneration far more liberal than nearer home.

This was all very encouraging, but with the canniness becoming an Ulsterwoman I determined to secure a definite engagement, so that I might find a footing in the country. I was at this time at home in Ireland, and I wrote to the best-known agencies in London. None of them could help me. They all seemed to have the haziest kind of ideas about Roumania. One agent wrote to say that they only covered Europe in their work! Even at that time it was against my will that I was obliged to apply to Germany, but in the event it was a Dresden agency which procured for me an appointment at a private school in Bucarest.

It was necessary for me to proceed to Dresden in order to conclude the agreement, and I was astonished to find that I could obtain no information there as to how I should get to Roumania. Even at the hotel I was informed that there was no train communication with the remote place, and that I should be obliged to journey down the Danube. Indeed, the information given me was so vague and contradictory that I began to feel just a trifle nervous. Once started, however, nothing short of some convulsion of nature on my line of route (when discovered) could have deterred me. Besides, I looked for help in Vienna, whither I was bound in response to an invitation from a family with whom I had resided for some time as governess. The family--that of Colonel von Walzel--remained my lifelong friends, and many long and happy visits have I paid them during the years that have passed since then. Let me just say here that Austrians are _not_ Germans; I shall offer evidence of this further on. Colonel von Walzel was an important official of the Court Chamberlain’s Department under Prince Hohenlohe, and I may remark in passing that on my innumerable journeys to and fro during these long years, I have never paid a halfpenny for railway fare when passing through Austrian territory. That is an advantage of having--as I very literally had--a friend at Court, for Colonel von Walzel always provided me with a first-class pass. I had many other privileges in Vienna, not the least of which was a box at the opera whenever I wanted one. It has nothing to do with my present story, but perhaps it might be well for me to refer here to a matter which might, conceivably, sometime occasion a misunderstanding. Colonel von Walzel’s brother is a well-known playwright, and was always a very good friend of mine. In one of his dramas, popular quite recently, there figures a Russian Nihilist Princess who desires to pass as an Englishwoman. The author may have meant to pay me a compliment or he may simply have had little acquaintance with English nomenclature, but at any rate he made his Princess call herself “Maude Parkinson,” and I have been told that my poor name has become quite familiar amongst the play-loving Viennese as typifying a certain kind of feminine subtlety which I cannot claim to possess.

Furnished with full instructions (and a free pass to the confines of Austro-Hungarian territory), I resumed my journey eastward. Travelling through Hungary is never very pleasant or interesting, and I soon grew tired of it, though my pass procured for me great deference everywhere. It became very monotonous on that long journey, gazing out of a window at a never-changing panorama of maize flats, with here and there a field of other grain. The wayside stations brought some relief, for here there were crowds of wild-looking unkempt natives dancing and singing to the invariable accompaniment of a mouth organ! These rude scenes led me to think that I was in truth leaving civilisation behind.

The train--which was an express from Vienna--slackened its pace so much after leaving Budapest that I mortally offended the guard by asking him in all good faith if it were a slow train. He replied in a very dignified manner, “Why, of _course_ it is an express; we have travelled--so many--kilometres since leaving Budapest.” I was not convinced of the speed of the train, as it is a well-known fact that Hungarian trains are the slowest in Europe. I have heard that a line running out of London contests this claim, but I have not sufficient information on the subject to institute a comparison.

When we reached the Roumanian frontier I really became a little alarmed for the first time. It was in the early hours of the morning, when one’s courage is at zero, and the crowds of strange-looking beings, clad in woolly sheep-skins, which thronged the station, appeared to me like denizens of another or an earlier world. Nevertheless, I was at once reminded of the old Irish jingle about Bryan O’Lynn, who’d “no breeches to wear, so he bought a sheep’s skin to make him a pair.”

Our luggage was examined here, and afterwards I returned to the ladies’ compartment in which I had been travelling, and which I shared with another. I fell asleep again, but just before dawn some slight noise disturbed me, and I opened my eyes to find a man seated in a corner of the carriage and calmly regarding us. I opened my mouth almost as soon as my eyes, and indignantly informed him in English, French, and German that he was in a ladies’ carriage, and had better get out of it as quickly as ever he could. Which language it was that frightened him I cannot tell; it may have been the tone of my address, but at any rate he fairly bolted.

We entered Bucarest by Verciorova, and my first impressions were disheartening. There was nothing about the surrounding country to prepossess me in its favour. It was flat and uninteresting, just like Hungary. The peasants who swarmed about were wild-looking and very dirty. My fellow-passenger had strongly advised me to go straight to the British Minister and present my credentials, and I had a good mind to follow her advice. However, I did not immediately do so.

There had been some mistake about the hour of my arrival, and so no one met me at the station. I procured a carriage, and handed the address to the driver.

“What a dreadful town!” I thought, as I was driven at a speed reminiscent of the Dublin jarvey through narrow, atrociously paved streets, filled--both as to road and footway--with half-melted snow. The month was February, and when I arrived the climatic conditions were at their worst, which was pretty bad in Bucarest. Some of the streets were quite unpaved; few, apparently, had any system of drainage, for extensive floods frequently rendered the roadway impassable for foot passengers.

Later on I heard the story of an adventure which befell an English lady--also a teacher--just before my arrival. She had been giving lessons in a Jewish family who were reluctant payers, and had been obliged to demand her money with some firmness. Out of spite they paid her the amount--a considerable sum--in copper coins! which taxed the resources of an unusually large bag. Confronted with a street in flood, and hampered by her unwieldy wealth, she found herself at a twilight hour in an awkward predicament. Not a carriage was in sight. She appealed to a sturdy youth who was passing, and offered him a reward if he would carry her across the street. The boy promptly picked her up (she was a little woman), bag and all, but in mid-stream--or street--she attempted to change her bag from one hand to the other. The swinging weight robbed the boy of his centre of gravity, and he and his fair burden fell floundering in the flood. He fished her out again and carried her ashore before searching for the treasure. This, however, he was fortunate enough to recover, and honest enough to return, receiving an ample reward for his pains.

My first impression of the school was not such as to cure me of the slight feeling of homesickness which I had now begun to experience. My arrival did not coincide with any meal-time--it was about 11 a.m.; and, as they have no idea of providing a decent repast at any unscheduled hour, I was shown into a workhouse-looking apartment with white bare walls and regaled with shocking bad coffee and a hunk of dry bread.

There was no lack of warmth, however, in Madame ----’s reception of me. She embraced me most effusively, and kissed me on both cheeks. Indeed, I may say at once that no matter what causes for complaint I may later on have found at this school, I always met with great kindness from the principal. This, however, was only in accordance with all my later experiences, as she was a native of Roumania.

The school was a large one, of about four hundred pupils, and there was a large staff of teachers of all nationalities. I refer to some of my experiences in a later chapter of this book.

Such was the manner of my coming to Bucarest; and how little I imagined then that I should grow to love the country and its people, and to make my home amongst them for so many years of my life!